Bon Temps Shore
by Dead Pan Contest
Summary: MTV's Jersey Shore reality show was so popular there's a new Southern spin-off, Bon Temps Shore, where eight strangers are given a beach house, a hot tub, and a whole lot of barbeque while the cameras are rolling!


**The Dead Pan Contest**

**Title: Bon Temps Shore**

**Story/movie parodied: **_**Jersey Shore**_

**Characters:**** Sookie, Eric, Bill, Pam, Jason, Tara, Jessica, Hoyt, and Sophie-Anne**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these characters, shows, or celebrities. I'm just obsessed with them!

**Summary:**Dead Pan 's _Jersey Shore _reality showwas so popular there's a new Southern spin-off, _Bon Temps Shore_, where eight strangers are given a beach house, a hot tub, and a whole lot of barbeque while the cameras are rolling!

**A/N: **This is what happens when you watch an episode of _Jersey Shore_ with a laptop on your lap, the Allman Brothers on your iPod, and Eric Northman always on your mind.

If you're from the South … I'm sorry. You'll know why.

^v^

So a guy in a suit walks into a bar and everyone stops and stares at him. Not because he's James Bond (though he is the James Bond of the media world) or because he's so good-looking (although that might be a reason why), but because no one has ever walked into this bar with this good of a suit … not even the real estate agent who sold the bar to whoever the idiot is that decided to name it "Merlotte's." Retard can't even spell 'merlot' right.

Fuck. My. Life.

No, fuck MTV for sending me on this shittastic job. This is what happens when you let Kanye West hang out backstage at the VMAs and then randomly run out and interrupt America's underage sweetheart from accepting her award: you get a slap on the wrist and a plane ticket to Bum Fuck—excuse me—_Bon Temps_, Louisiana to do scouting for the Southern version of _Jersey Shore_. They should be sending me music video whores for all the press this dying TV station received in the aftermath of Kanye-Gate … but nope, here I am walking into a grubby bar with two tractors in the parking lot. There isn't even a Marriott or a fucking Westin in a fifty-mile radius of this town, and you better believe I googled that shit. Once again, fuck you very much MTV.

Fine. Whatever. I can already see there's no one here that has that 15-minutes-of-fame potential, even including the sweet plastic surgery deal that MTV offers to its reality show contestants. I'm not even kidding—you should have seen Kristin Cavallari before _Laguna Beach_. Girl had the beak of a hawk. The only reason why she agreed to do _The Hills_ is because MTV threatened to leak the "before" pictures.

I turn on my heel, prepared to get the hell out of here, but out of the corner of my eye I see these fantastic tits. I can tell they're real and everything—hey, I'm a MTV exec, it's practically a job requirement to know how to spot a fake tit. They're nice and juicy too, bouncing up and down as this chick (haven't looked up higher to see the face, and quite frankly I don't want to) starts clearing a table covered with plates of fried road kill. I sit down at the one next to it.

She turns, squishing the girls together to greet me as she reaches down into this black apron thing, fumbling for a notebook and a pen to take my order.

"Hiya there, what can I get fer yas?" she drawls. Good God, her boobs are even better looking up close.

I force myself to look up, up, up, and Halle-fucking-lujah, I'm actually glad I did. Good face, nice cheekbones, blue eyes, blonde hair, rosebud lips. Her face was made for television, and her body was made for porn. I can see her on the covers of magazines, I can see her on posters in the rooms of masturbating thirteen-year-old boys, and I can see her with her own K-Mart line of clothing for preteen girls. Forget cash cow—she's a fucking cash filet mignon.

"I'll have a Diet Pepsi and your name, sweetheart," I answer. It's probably the first time she's ever seen someone from north of the Mason-Dixion Line. She'll probably think of me as a Northerner. Hell, with my good looks she'll probably think I'm a movie star. It's not like she'd be the first.

"I'm sorry sir, but we only have Diet Coke," she replies apologetically, smiling and having no idea what the effect of her 'sir' is doing to me.

I tell her that's fine, and jokingly remind her she never told me her name. She blushes and replies, "Sookie Stackhouse."

I grimace. _Sookie_? _SOOKIE? _COME ON. Is this a joke? How the hell am I supposed to promote a Southern _Jersey Shore_ if there's a cast member on it named _Sookie_?

After a few seconds, I smile and tell her my name. Just to see her cute little dimples, I smoothly remark on how happy I am to have met her acquaintance. Northern boys have chivalry too.

She grins and mumbles something about how she'll be right back with my drink. I'm a little disappointed she's leaving so soon, but that disappears once she turns around. Her ass … her legs … her curves … what the fuck is this girl doing here? If she was a waitress in New York she'd have her own show in a heartbeat.

That's it. I've found the breakout star—even better, ratings-wise of course, if she's the breakout slut—of _Bon Temps Shore_.

Hello, new parking spot.

**Sookie POV**

"Here ya go, hun. Can I take your order now, or you still lookin'?" I ask cheerfully, placin' a coaster on the table before I set down his cola.

"Turkey club," he says, holdin' out the menu fer me to take. "This probably sounds creepy, but would you mind sitting down with me for a bit? I've been on the road for a while and you're the first friendly face I've seen."

"Sure. Where ya from, anyhoo?" I ask, slidin' into the seat across from him.

"New York. Ever been?"

"Only in my head," I blurt out before blushin' immediately. Ohmagod, I'm, like, the biggest hick ever.

Thankfully, he laughs, in a good way. "Being a mental traveler is always nice—and less tiresome."

I giggle, glad he ain't runnin' fer the hills all 'cause of my dumb statement. "And you don't have to do no packin' neither. If you don't mind me askin', what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks are ya doin' here in Bon Temps?"

"You probably won't believe me, but I'm here to scout for potential cast members and the location of a new reality show." He even slides a business card over to me, and it does have _senior director of strategic services, MTV _printed on it real nicely.

I look up and raise an eyebrow. "What kind of show?"

**The Man POV**

Hmm … how to say this nicely … _Jersey Shore_ was so successful (paid for my newest Mercedes) that MTV wants to make a version in the South portraying rednecks and their crass way of life to further cement its status as the go-to channel of trashy twenty-somethings making complete fools of themselves on national television?

I hesitate before replying, "Ever heard of _Jersey Shore_?"

Sookie nods. "Sure, who hasn't? 'Specially with a name like Sookie, it'd be hard not to." She flashes me a grin. Nice teeth. Won't need to write a check for her dental work.

I keep my face neutral; if she knows what kind of people are on that show, it'd be a hard sell for this Southern Belle to agree to be on this one. But hey, I'm a businessman.

My luck continues when she adds, "I haven't actually seen the program, though. We only get double-digit stations when it rains."

This is perfect. She's perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.

I nod like I actually can relate to that. "Well, we're trying to put together a reality show kind of like it, only Southern-fried."

Shit, that'd be an awesome tag line. I quickly type it into the "notes" section of my iPhone that I'm gripping under the table. I'm such a pro, I don't even look down. I know where the fucking number keys are.

"Sounds … interesting. Any luck so far?" she asks, tilting her head.

"That depends."

"On what?"

I know how this is going down. This is almost the same conversation I had with Heidi Montag before _The Hills_, although it's probably going to be a lot harder to convince this perky blonde that there's a party in my pants and she's invited. I pause and take a sip of my lukewarm soda, knowing that the suspense will make my next line even more epic.

"On whether or not you'd like to be in it."

**Sookie POV**

"Holy moley!" I gasp, leanin' forward and placin' my elbows on the table, too excited to remember how impolite it is. "You really mean it?"

"I think you'd be perfect for this show. Boys are going to want you; girls are going to want to be you. You'll be rich and famous. I already see a spin-off in your future."

"What's the catch?"

"The catch? There isn't any, I swear. Granted, I'm still working on finding a location and the rest of the cast members. Nothing's set in stone just yet. But I'm sure MTV's going to love you … and this show. You keep my business card and give me your contact information. I'll take a mini screen test of you on my phone, and then I'll keep in touch and let you know what happens. What do you say?"

I don't know what to say. I look back down at his business card. It seems legit. And I can always look him up on the Internet usin' one of the computers in the public library. Plus, it's just givin' him my phone number and lettin' him take a short video of me. I live in a town with a population of eight hundred people and I work as a barmaid for a living. 'S not like I don't got nothin' better to do.

I shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

He grins. "You're not going to regret this decision."

"DING!" Oops, his turkey club is ready. I excuse myself and walk away, a little dazedly.

**The Man POV**

After Sookie sets down the heart attack on bread, she tells me to holler if I need anything (you can't even make this stuff up; I'm a talent scout, not a writer) and walks away. I inspect my sandwich for a rat carcass or a rusty nail or anything like that. Nothing—it looks, and tastes, like a regular turkey club.

Once I finish my lunch, I text my boss about the status of the show. '_Found the star, am sending vid soon_.'

'_Hot?'_ That's my boss for you. They'll let just about anyone work at MTV as long as they know sex (and sex tapes) sells.

'_On fire. Boobs, blonde, curves.' _I type back.

'_Pls not fucking Snookie curves.'_ Shit, I still have to sell him on the whole Snookie-Sookie thing. Surely Sookie isn't her real name? It was just a stupid nickname for her Joisey polar opposite, anyways. Whatever, it's no big deal. I'll make it work. I'm that good.

'_Southern Marilyn Monroe. Wait 4 vid_.'

Just then Sookie comes over to clear my plate, and I ask, "So would now be a good time for you to make that screen test?"

"Now? Seriously? But I'm up to my elbows in beer and greasy food!" she nervously exclaims. I almost tell her she'd look perfect lying naked in a tub of beer and greasy food, but I pull back, not wanting to freak her out. Fuck, now she _has_ to be on the show if she's so cute and girl-next-door that I'm refraining from talking dirty to her. That never happens. Never.

"Not a problem. Video quality isn't that good anyways," I lie. Who am I kidding? This iPhone hasn't even been released on the market yet; of course it has good video quality. But as I've found with busty blonde starlets, what they don't know won't kill them. Or their sex drives.

She nods. "All right. Let's do this."

"Fantastic. Listen, I've been thinking, the lighting's better over here," I say, gesturing to where I want her to go. She turns and walks over there, and damn, that ass looks better up close. No cellulite either, that's just another thing to add on the pros list, which the MTV guys will like for more than one reason.

She twirls around, and I quickly bring my eyes up to her face once she stops. That ass. Those tits. Those legs. "Perfect."

"So what do you want me to do?" she giggles, crossing her arms again. _Keep saying things like that with that fuckhot school girl innocence_.

"I don't know, maybe state your age, full name, job, fun facts? Pretend we're on a first date," I smile, holding up the iPhone to start recording her.

"I've never been on a first date," she mumbles, shifting her gaze to the floor.

I almost drop my phone. She's never been on a first date? Is she fucking kidding me? Her—never on a date? Holy fuck, is she a virgin? Like I needed another reason to think Southern boys are idiots. If we got her to lose her virginity on the show, we'd have ratings up the wazoo. That is, of course, if she really is a virgin. But I just know if I ask her that, there's no way she'll commit to anything.

"It's true," she admits. She looks directly at the camera and adds, "I, Susannah "Sookie" Stackhouse, am a twenty-five-year-old waitress from Bon Temps, Louisiana who's never been on a first date."

She smiles sweetly and I'm sold, I know my boss is sold, I know MTV is sold, I know the whole damn country is sold. And her real name is Susannah? Oh my god, it's the cherry on the motherfucking Southern sundae.

Smiling I offer her my hand and tell her to never change. Partially because she's so fucking cute, and partially because I'm building this show around her and if she goes and becomes the slut-next-door or gains twenty pounds, then I'm screwed.

Five minutes later the check is paid, the tip is given, and I make my way out of the door, blowing her a kiss good bye just to have a view of that gorgeous blush to tide me over until I see her again. Which I definitely fucking will.

Turning and smirking, I run into this absolute wall of a chest. I look up and it's this blonde, blue-eyed hunk that will make all the girlies want to go ride their bikes or their horsies immediately after seeing him. What the fuck is in Merlotte's tap water, to be having all these random blonde hotties lurking around?

"Sorry, didn't see you there," I say, my fingers twitching to hand him my business card and cast the same spell on him as I did with Sookie.

"Not a problem, guy," he smiles back good-naturedly. "You ain't from around here, ain't ya?"

Yep, just found my Scarlett O'Hara and now, my Bo Duke.

I smile and offer him my name and my hand. He takes both and says he's "Jasey-J" Stackhouse. My smile grows.

"Are you related to Sookie Stackhouse, by any chance?"

"Yep," he says, smacking his lips while popping the 'p.' "She's my baby sis. Why d'you ask?"

Huh. The sibling part might be a little hard to sell, no thanks to Lauren Conrad's younger sister and the lousy ratings her own season of _Laguna Beach_ received, and also the fucking Pratts combo on _The Hills_.

Fuck it. This is going to be my baby. I can already tell it's going to be like a 21st century _Gone with the Wind_ on acid. Wait, maybe not acid—I don't know what the budget will be like yet. But at the very least, _Bon Temps Shore_ will be like a 21st century _Gone with the Wind_ on two hours of sleep and seven Red Bulls. I can promise you that.

If I put the Stackhouses in the same house with a bunch of other young attractive people and a fuckload of free liquor, it's guaranteed to be a hit. We won't even need to hire a staff of writers for this show, I can already tell. Just another selling point to make this thing happen. You think those fuckers from _Jersey Shore_ thought of "guidos" and "guidettes" by themselves? Please. They were calling themselves "hotties" before I got to them.

"I work as a talent scout for MTV and we're looking for new members of a reality show. Would you be interested in starring on TV, having girls all across the country know your name, becoming rich and famous?"

"Duh, dude!" he cries, offering me a high-five and snapping his fingers after we slap hands.

I am the fucking man. That is all.

_~~Two months later~~_

**Sookie POV**

So I really wasn't expectin' to be on a reality show and stuff, 'specially after Jasey-J came into Merlotte's yappin' a mile a minute about how we was gonna be television stars. It seemed too fishy—I get an offer to be on a reality show, and so does my big brother, on the same day, by the same guy? I'm Southern, not stupid.

But a week later we both got a call from MTV, and after a lotta paperwork (mostly non-disclosure signings, but I am gettin' free health care fer the entire time I'm on the show!) and interviews and screen tests and video chat (MTV sent me a laptop fer that very purpose), I received a letter in the mail congratulatin' us on our positions as MTV's newest stars on _Bon Temps Shore_ and highly recommendin' that we "show off our Southern heritage through regional expression and dialect." Sounds like a wad of hooey if you ask me. The letter also asked me to go by the name of Susannah, to avoid confusion with Snooki from _Jersey Shore_. So Susannah it is.

I had already explained this on one of those interview thangs I had to give today—today bein' the day when all the cast members arrive at this luxurious beach house right on the Gulf of Mexico, in Homulka. It's nowhere near my town, but the show's still gonna be called _Bon Temps Shore_, accordin' to camera guy number one. Go figure. I just hope they'll get all the other facts straight with this show.

I asked him why we couldn't just shoot it in Bon Temps, but he just shrugged and said MTV could do whatever the fudge they want ('cept he didn't exactly say fudge, he dropped the F-bomb) and the big dogs on top think the name's gonna be fittin' and all, on account of how "Bon Temps" is Cajun fer "Good Times" and sounds much better than _Homulka Shores_.

There are so many MTV guys with cameras and lights and microphones that you could stir 'em with a stick. They seem very friendly, but I was told to ignore 'em, which is gonna be mighty hard. I've already got yelled at 'cause I kept askin' 'em if I can fix 'em a glass of sweet tea, and they keep havin' to tell me I ain't s'posed to interact with any of 'em while the cameras are rollin'.

Even though Jasey-J only just arrived (we carpooled together and took Jasey-J's pick-up truck, 'cause he needed extra space fer his suitcases) we've already claimed our beds. There are four bedrooms with two beds each, and we picked the two rooms located on opposite ends of the hall. Jasey-J don't want his baby sister to mess with his game and I know what it looks like to live with him.

Technically I don't live with Jasey-J at home; I live with my Gran, and Jasey-J lives alone in our parent's house. My maw and paw died in a flash flood when I was younger, a point the recordin' crew tried to amp up when Jasey-J and I went in fer our joint interviews.

They also asked me lotsa uncomfortable questions, like what I looked fer in a man. Uh, last time I checked this ain't a datin' show! I just said I wanted a nice, sweet-tea drinkin', barbeque-attendin', square-dancin', farmers-tan-havin' hickbilly whose sunburned arms and white chest looked real good in plaid. I even joked, "Just like every Southern gal should … is that too much to ask?" But seriously. Every Southern girl should have a hickbilly.

I also had to explain my relationship with Jasey-J (we ain't too close but when we do hang out we have fun) and what I did in my spare time (tannin', readin' dem romance novels, and gardenin') and what I wanted to take home from this experience—I just said I wanted to hang out with some cool hickbillies and hickbillie-jeans, go to barbeques, and wear lotsa plaid. Don't everyone?

" Howdy y'all!" I hear a decidedly masculine voice call out from the front room. Here's a hickbilly who seems to have no qualms about showin' off his Southern heritage.

I jump up from the couch, smoothin' my checkered blue and white shirt dress. Jasey-J comes a-runnin' out of the bathroom, liftin' up his tank top to button his jeans. Jesus H. Christ, I hope the camera crew don't pick up on that.

Jasey-J winks at me, and together we walk into the front room to see a handsome, twenty-somethang guy with dark brown hair and matchin' eyes strugglin' to kick his cowboy boots off while carryin' two large duffel bags on his shoulders. What a sweetheart, takin' his shoes off so he don't muss up the nice beach house. Even though he's tryin' not to fall over with the bags, he still manages to tip his cowboy hat in my direction, like a leading man in an old movie or sumptin. I try my darndest not to swoon.

"Hey there, I'm Jasey-J. Lemme help you with those, guy," Jasey-J grins, walkin' over.

"Beel Compton." They shake. "And who might dis here lovely lady be?" Beel asks, droppin' Jasey-J's hand and takin' mine instead. Whoo dawgy, he has big hands.

"I'm Susannah, Jasey-J's sister," I shyly reply, hypnotized by his yummy brown eyes the color of the dirt I like plantin' all my flowers in back home.

"Susannah, 's a pleasah tah meet yah," he drawls, bowin' and kissin' my hand. I blush fer all of America to see.

Beel straightens, but he don't let go of my hand. "So, what's the roomin' situation here like?"

**Jasey-J POV**

Okay, so this dude walks in and instantly starts kissin' and strokin' Sookie's—sorry, _Susannah_'s—hand like it's her pussy. It fucking ain't. And then he goes and asks about who's bunkin' with who? Douche.

Susannah says we think the rooms are arranged accordin' to gender. Bill—or "Beel" as he pronounces it in his own little weird-ass Southernese accent—looks like he's seriously considerin' sleepin' in the same room as Susannah so he can sniff through her panty drawers at night and watch her sleep and stuff, so I throw an arm around his shoulder and drag him to the room across from mine. Crisis averted.

He tells me he's much obliged to my kindness, but I just get the fuck out of there as soon as he gleefully starts pullin' out more polo shirts with a big dopey grin on his face.

I'm just glad I ain't the one stuck with the little booger. Hopefully the other guys are cooler, although it shouldn't be too hard as long as they ain't wearin' pleated khakis and a tucked-in booger-colored polo like this noob. Like, who wears polos anywhere? Nobody, man. And khakis? Unless you're like a substitute teacher or sumptin, don't. Just don't.

Plaid. 'S what it's all about, if you're a true hickbilly. Plaid plaid plaid plaid plaid. Wanna impress a girl? Wear plaid boxers. Wanna impress a boss? Wear plaid button-up shirts. Me, I was born and raised a hickbilly. It's just a lifestyle, it's bein' Southern, it's representin', plaid, friends, eatin' pie, farmer's tan, wrestlin', just everythang. I brought an entire suitcase just full of plaid clothes to the Shore. That's how much of a hickbilly I am. You can take the billy out of the hill, but you can't take the hill out of the billy.

I walk back into the living room and see Susannah standin' by the couch, fiddlin' with the microphones we're s'posed to wear at all times. I roll my eyes and she giggles.

"What's so funny?"

We turn around and there's this black chick with braids down to her shoulders. She's standin' casual in a red tank top and jeans, with her mouth all puckered up like she's suckin' on a Warhead. But not a watermelon Warhead, 'cause everyone with half a mouth knows those are the sweetest.

"What's up? I'm Tara Thornton, I'm twenty-seven, I work at Target, and I'm pretty sure I was cast to play the token sassy black woman but at $5,000 an episode I just don't give a damn. By the way, if you make any comments about how I'm black and named after the most famous slave-ownin' plantation, I will tattoo my name on your ass while you sleep." She plunks this bucket of KFC on the coffee table. "I brought some chicken wings as a motherfuckin' house-warmin' gift. Pleased to meet y'all."

Susannah and I exchange nervous glances. We're livin' in a house of freaks, somethang I believe even more once I hear Beel holler "Pleased tah meet yah!" from the bedroom.

Tara drops her bags and slouches on the couch. "Who the fuck is that?" she asks, juttin' her chin in the direction of Beel's voice.

"Beel Compton," Susannah answers.

"He sounds stupid," Tara states bluntly, not botherin' to lower her voice at all.

**Tara POV**

After Southern Barbie and her Ken look at me, they introduce demselves. She's Susannah and he's Jasey-J and they're siblings, so I guess he ain't her Ken after all, which is good fer me. I wonder how close they are. Hopefully they ain't that kind of brother-sister. But it ain't like I should care. I have a boyfriend, JB, waitin' fer me at home. Even though he's as stupid as a caterpillar butt, he sure is easy on the eyes.

Then this absolute nerd comes out from nowhere; Beel, who not only looks like a computer geek but actually gets paid to be one fer his job as a software programmer, announces he's gonna make us some sweet tea, and he runs into the kitchen. I laugh as soon as his wedgied-ass (his khakis are so tight there ain't no way he don't have a wedgie) is out the door.

Susannah, Jasey-J, and I chat fer some more, until we hear Beel introduce himself to someone. With raised eyebrows, we all walk into the rustic-lookin' kitchen and see Beel enthusiastically pumpin' the hand of this gorgeous blonde glamazon modelin' this dress that looks like someone threw up neon flowers all over it. I can tell we're either gonna be best friends or sworn enemies, 'cause I don't do that pussy frenemy shit.

I think we're gonna be friends once I see her lookin' at Beel like he's a wad of gum that got stuck on her pink kitten heels. Beel goes back to puttin' paper umbrellas in our plastic cups, and fer lack of any other conversation starter she asks what he's makin'.

"Sweet tea? As in, Louisiana sweet tea?" she asks skeptically after she introduces herself to us as Ka-Pam Ravenscroft. Yeah, like _that's_ what is says on your birth certificate, honey.

"What's that?" he replies seriously. I share a smirk with Pam.

"No, no, let me take care of this," she says, shooin' him out of the kitchen so he can take her pink suitcases to the bedroom. She starts riflin' through the cabinets and triumphantly pulls out a whole slew of brightly colored bottles of alcohol. Yes, we're gonna be friends.

**Beel POV**

I hafta say this Ka-Pam will upset the balance of flavors in the sweet tea I've prepared. But, since I'm the perfect Southern gentleman, I'll just let her be. If I know anythang, there'll be plenty of other opportunities to make sweet tea. _My_ sweet tea.

**Ka-Pam POV**

Finally, little boy Beel leaves so we can get this party started. I only met him fer all of thirty seconds and he's already managed to annoy me. I can already tell that by the end of the summer I'll have gone all vampire and bit his face off and drank his blood. Somethang to look forward to, I guess. 'Cause I am a vampire when it comes to relationships—all relationships—even if most romantic ones are with women. I get what I want from 'em, and then I move on; drain and dump, feed and fuck. Come to Momma, bitches.

**Susannah POV**

Beel scurries off and Pam starts pourin' alcohol in the tea, and then serves us—holy mackrel, this ain't your Gran's tea, that's fer sure! I only take itsy bitsy sips though. I'm already too jumpy to begin with.

We're talkin' and we're laughin' and I'm havin' a good time—and then I'm really havin' a good time when this tall, blonde, and almost too handsome man strolls in through the door, his shoulder-skimming hair blowin' like he just finished ridin' a horsey. He's wearin' a snug plaid green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tan forearms all exposed.

That plaid shirt! That face! Those eyes! That hair! That body! _That plaid shirt! _

Bow chicka wow wow!

Heavens to Betsy, he is the most perfect hickbilly! He's every cowboy I've ever watched in the Westerns, he's every bad boy I've read about in drugstore romance books, he's every lover I've seen on television, he's every hickbilly I've ever drooled over in high school. He's Rhett Butler with face stubble and shaggy blonde hair.

**Ka-Pam POV**

Now, I'm as lesbian as an entire softball team (and much better lookin' than all of 'em combined) but I'd go straight fer him. Not that I'll need to, as I already see the other two girls strugglin' to close their mouths—blondie in particular.

**Tara POV**

So looks like the token plaid-wearin' hottie bad boy came—late, of course. Pffft.

**Jasey-J POV**

He seems like the kind of guy who'd be able to crush a beer can with his forehead without cryin'. I like him already.

**Susannah POV**

He introduces himself as Eric Northman. Everyone else says their names, and right when I'm about to introduce myself Beel comes in.

"Beel, you said?" Eric asks politely.

"Uh huh. It's my second nickname fer William."

"Second nickname?" Pam asks sarcastically, archin' a perfect brow. She exchanges a look with Eric, and I can tell they're havin' fun, bondin' over their blonde eyebrows and stuff. I try not to be jealous, but it's pretty dang hard.

"My firs' nickname is The The," Beel replies proudly.

"Good heavens, why?" I blurt out before realizin' how gosh darn snooty that must sound. Eric don't seem to mind, as he looks over and gives me a secret smile. I blush and look back at Beel, who seems happy that I'm interested in his nickname.

"People call me The The 'cause they always stutter when they see me and my six friends," Beel answers, carefully untuckin' his shirt and smoothin' out the creases before slowly liftin' it up to reveal his pale skinny stomach.

He has a negative-six pack, in my opinion.

No one says anythang, but I'm pretty sure I hear Pam mutter about how it ain't right to make fun of someone that stupid.

"I know, right?" Beel smirks, thinkin' we're speechless on account of what he's showin' us. We are, but not in that way. "Actually, if y'all could call me The The from now on, I'd be as happy as a lizard in a pool of lemonade on a hot summer day."

"… So you _want_ us to call you The The?" Jasey-J asks. And here I was a-thinkin' he'd be the fool of the show.

"Yessiree bob, 's what I said."

"The The?" I repeat slowly, just to make sure I'm hearin' him right.

"Yes'm?" Beel says earnestly, turnin' to look at me while he waits fer my reply. Sugar Honey Iced Tea, this boy ain't kiddin'.

After a beat, Eric grumbles, "I need a drink." Everyone agrees.

**Eric POV**

As if his awh-shucks Momma's boy manners ain't enough, as if his thirteen-year-old boy's body ain't enough, as if his stupid man-bangs ain't enough, as if his dumbass nickname ain't enough—he has to go and interrupt this angel from tellin' me her name. That's what I hate him fer the most, I reckon. Ain't that goin' 'gainst his perfect Southern chivalry thang he got goin' on, interruptin' ladies?

After—Ka-Pam, was it? The blonde chick who seems weirdly immune to my charms, must be a rug eater—pours a round of shots, I take mine and lean back against the counter next to the anonymous blonde, so close our arms are touchin' and stuff, and murmur, "Y'know, I never got to know yer name, Miss …"

"Susannah Stackhouse," she replies, smilin' and revealin' her straight, white teeth. Hey, I live in Louisiana, I know when to appreciate good dental hygiene.

The The, who had brought over Susannah's shot glass, starts to say something, but Ka-Pam asks him 'bout his recipe fer the sweet tea and he scampers off to get out his family cookbook.

"Miss Susannah Stackhouse. I hope I ain't pullin' a Beel …The The … whatever … by sayin' this, but meetin' you has been the highlight of my day," I say, smilin'.

She laughs before leanin' close to me and whisperin', "Please, call me Susannah. And you might wanna watch out, 'cause that might be the new catchphrase. _Pullin' a Beel_." She straightens, her blue eyes twinklin' and lookin' real pretty, 'specially after she winks at me.

Awh, hail. I'm done fer. "I have the feeling that anythang that comes out of that chump's mouth will be the new catchphrase," I whisper back into her clean-smellin' hair that reminds me of sunshine and flowers. Mmm. I don't pull away.

"I have the feeling you're right about that," she grins, turnin' her head to me, her beautiful sky-blue eyes widenin' once she realizes how close I am to her, how close my lips are to hers. But she don't pull back neither. Good girl.

"To not pullin' a Beel," I laugh quietly, holdin' up my shot glass. She clinks it with hers and takes a baby sip—naw, scratch that, it's so small she just took a fetus sip. Not a baby sip. A fetus sip.

"Don't like it?" I ask, seein' how everyone else is already on their next drink and Susannah's double-fistin' a mostly-full Louisiana Sweet Tea and her brimmin' shot glass.

"I work as a waitress at a bar, so I know people get mighty stupid when they're drunk."

"I hear ya. I bartended my way through cawledge," I reply.

"Really? How old are you?" she asks. This is good. She's interested. In Me.

"Twenty-eight. You?"

"Twenty-five." Perfect.

"So, how does a cawledge-educated, twenty-eight-year-old blonde former bartender such as yerself end up on a reality show?" she asks, smilin' at me over the rim of her cup while she takes a sip. "That's the new 'what do you do fer a living' small talk, by the way. Now it's 'how did you get on _Bon Temps Shore_?"

I chuckle. "I'm probably committin' a huge faux pas by tellin' you this, but I'm a personal trainer, and I run my own gym. This guy in a suit stopped by and gave me his business card. I guess I'm here 'cause I think it could be a great business promotion. What's your excuse?"

"I think I know the guy you're talkin' 'bout—he came into the bar I work at and pretty much did the same exact thang. He met my brother there too. And I didn't have nothin' better to do."

Oh, that's right. Her older brother's here too—Jasey-J. I'm an only child, but I know if I had a younger sister as beautiful and sweet as Susannah I'd want to protect the hell out of her.

Then the door swings open and about a minute later two people walk into the kitchen, a tall-ish, guy with a green John Deere trucker hat, paint-splattered jeans, and a white undershirt with the sleeves cut off, and a redheaded girl with all black clothing—black tank top, black plastic choker necklace, black nail polish, even black ribbons tied on two ridiculous pigtails that are just askin' fer a Pippi Longstocking comparison. She looks like she's twelve and I wouldn't be surprised if she acted like she was too. Fuck.

The boy seems cool. He's wearin' a shirt with the sleeves cut off. And trucker hats are flippin' sweet.

The girl? Eh, she ain't no Susannah, that's fer sure. Yea, she has a nice body, but compared to Sookie, she just looks like a little girl. Not attractive; I want my women to look and feel like women. Her legs are like pale little sticks compared to Susannah's smooth, tan, muscular legs; her teeny red-and-black paid mini skirt makes this the first time I've ever been repulsed by the sight of a short skirt.

The two finally introduce demselves—the hickbilly by sayin', "Hi, I'm Hoyt," and the hickbillie-jean by screechin', "THE PARTY IS HERRRRRRE! OHMAGAWD JESSICA JO LOVES TEQUILLA! LET'S PARRRR-TAYYY BITCHES!" and knockin' back two shots without droppin' her bags.

**Ka-Pam POV**

Um, how-de-doo?

**Jessica Jo POV**

Like, ohmagowd, I am SOOOOO excited to be on _Bon Temps Shore_! Hot guys, no parents, and all the new clothes I bought with the $500 Hot Topic gift card the MTV guys gave me and told me to buy a new, edgy look for me (no more church dresses that look like hospital gowns, take THAT Mommy!) so I know I am smokin' and like, DUH, everyone agrees, obviously, 'cause everyone's lookin' at me when I start dancin' 'cause OMG I LOVE MY LIFE! I can't wait to DANCE and DRINK and HOOK UP and KISS and BRAID MY HAIR 'cause, like, I'm at the BON TEMPS SHORE, bitches!

"COME ON GUYS, let's par-tay and dance and drink and, like, YEE HAW!" I cry, closin' my eyes and doin' my signature dance move, "the lasso"—I just pretend I'm twirling a lasso in the air and shake my hips.

**The The POV**

This Jessica Jo girl is a loose cannon, and I should know—I'm obsessed with the Civil War.

**Jasey-J POV **

So this little fur ball Jessica Jo starts runnin' 'round the house. Don't ask me why. I literally don't know. I really don't.

'Specially when, after knockin' back a coupla drinks, she does this random bump-and-grind move on The The, and of course his face is priceless, as I'm sure everyone else's was. Like, I'm glad there was a fuckload of cameras tapin' it, 'cause this sure as fuck was a Kodak moment. Jessica Jo just got down and dirty while The The was sippin' his sweet tea with his goddamn pinky raised. Honestly, I'm surprised the guy didn't spit it all over Jessica Jo's little Wendy's girl pigtails.

**The The POV**

That Jessica Jo don't have any manners whatsoever. What. So. Ever.

**Jasey-J POV**

Then, after makin' lotsa WTF fuck faces behind Jessica Jo's back, everyone inches a little farther away from her. Susannah and that Eric guy look like they're hittin' it off real good. Almost too good fer my likin'. They're standin' next to each other, leanin' against the counter and stuff—like they're pals. Only the looks Susannahs givin' Eric when he's sippin' his drink, or the looks Eric's givin' Susannah when she stares at hers … they ain't looks you'd give to a pal, if ya know what I mean.

But hey, Susannah and I agreed we're gonna treat the other person like new a cast member, not a sibling. I mean, Susannah is a grown girl, she knows what game she's playin', and if she wants to play it, that's her choice. And I'll probably be too busy playin' my own game to notice. Plus, I know where Eric's sleepin' so I can just serve him a knuckle sandwich if he hurts her.

**Eric POV**

Susannah and I are hittin' it off real good, better than I thought I'd be able to connect with someone. And then this little fake-redheaded teenaged girl who appears to be playin' dress-up in an old movie star's closet strolls into the room. Huh, I thought there was only gonna be eight members on the show.

She introduces herself as Sophie-Anne, the landlord and our boss at The Palace, the souvenir and tee-shirt tourist trap on the boardwalk. She talks 'bout some house rules and when she can expect us to show up fer some trainin' tomorrow—like don't come to work late or drunk or whatever, which I think is reasonable since I have those same rules at my gym— but no one really pays attention til she mentions a barbeque pit on the roof that we can barbeque with.

I fuckin' love barbeques. It's one of the best thangs 'bout bein' a Southern boy, besides Nascar and always gettin' to see the ladies in their summer shorts year-round.

Susannah's eyes light up and she smiles brightly at me and I can't help grinnin' back. Sophie-Anne sees our smiles and says she'll lead us there. She winks at me when she says that, which just makes her look like even more of a little girl playin' with her momma's lipstick.

Seein' that reminds me why I signed on to do this show—hook up with the hickbillie-jeans of the South. Yea, Susannah is lookin' mighty fine and I am definitely attracted to her—with her looks and personality, you'd be a fool not to. Hell, I'm pretty sure my introducin' myself to her was the only thang that stopped The The from tryin' to awkwardly flirt with her. But I didn't come to the Shore to find true love or the hickbillie-jean that I'm gonna spend the rest of my life makin' babies and eatin' pies with. I don't think anyone did. And if they did, I figger they're as smart as a jar full of worms. This ain't the _Southern Bachelor_, fer Chrissake. And I think if it was _Survivor: Bon Temps_, The The would definitely be the first one voted off the island. He's such a prick.

Apparently I ain't the only one who thinks so. On the way to the roof, Jasey-J buddies up to me and mutters about how at least he'll have one normal roommate, since all the guys are bunkin' together in the two adjoinin' rooms, and I'm with him while The The's with Hoyt. I decide not to mention about how that one normal roommate wants to hook up with his sister, 'cause I'm a smart cookie and also 'cause I'm too busy noticin' how Susannah just walked up the stairs without sayin' nothin' to me.

**Susannah POV **

Sophie-Anne leads us upstairs, and the view's so pretty and the barbecue pit's so big and grand that it's worth bein' on this show. The first thang I see is this HUGE hot tub, one that's as big as my bathroom back home.

The The starts fussin' with the barbecue pit and the grill and the meat sittin' in the cooler, and I go over to see if he needs any help. He's politely hesitant at first, but once I tell him my pecan pie won first place at the country fair last year, I get the special okay to help out.

I start mashin' potaters. Bill starts puttin' some meat in the barbeque pit and then comes over and starts shuckin' corn next to me. I can't help but notice the way the tendons in his pale arms move whenever he struggles with a particularly tough corn husk. UNF.

I work on a salad and the corn on the cob, and Bill focuses on grillin' and barbequin'. We're a good cookin' team, and everyone agrees once we sit down and eat. Jasey-J eats four helpings. Eric eats half of the corn on the cobs. Jessica Jo eats all the pickles, which is odd 'cause neither Bill nor I put pickles on the table. She musta brought her own. And Hoyt? He just sat down with a plate stacked with chicken-fried steak and nothin' else. And lemme tell ya, he ate every damn piece of chicken-fried steak. No one else even got a little taste. It's like he thought he was a hungry, chicken-fried-steak-eatin' dinosaur or sumptin.

**Hoyt POV**

I love chicken-fried steak. It's like a chicken and a steak got together and made a baby. A delicious, crispy baby and … uh…

**Bill POV**

This Hoyt boy musta been impressed by my abdominal situation, 'cause he ate nothin' but chicken-fried steak. Well, you wanna look like The The, you're gonna hafta put some protein in your diet.

As soon as I finish eatin' I get into the hot tub. I mean, I made dinner. Why would I clear the table?

**Eric POV **

Everyone runs off as soon as they're done eatin', followin' The The's perfect example, so only Susannah's left cleanin' up everyone's mess. Well, that ain't right. Not just 'cause she helped make dinner (even if The The didn't acknowledge it, everyone else saw her with the salad and potaters and corn—or am I just payin' extra attention?), but also 'cause everyone made the mess and one person shouldn't have to clean it. So I go over to where's she's stuffin' food in the garbage can and hold the bag fer her while she crams it all in. She really liked that; she beams at me and even though she's surrounded by garbage, she looks really purty.

"Thanks, Eric," she says gratefully after we're all done and are cleanin' our hands in the kitchen.

"'S no problem," I reply as I dump all the cans into the recyclin' bin that The The mentioned like a bazillion times We get it dude, recycle. It ain't rocket science.

And it ain't rocket science either that the guy's a douche. While me and Susannah are up to our elbows in used napkins and paper plates, The The's just chillin' out in the hot tub, wearin' his stupid sunglasses even though it's night time. Damn. I was gonna ask Sookie to go in later. I turn to ask her if she'd like to go in with me, but she must have left the room once I finished throwin' out everythang. Hm. Maybe I'll go change and just wait in the hot tub for her.

**Ka-Pam**

So all the hickbillies get in the hot tub, and Tara and Sookie say they don't wanna and they just chill on the couch. But it's prime hot-tubbin' weather and I change into my bikini. And when I come out, all the other guys are in the hot tub, along with Jessica Jo, who walked over, in like this XL plaid shirt thingy with rhinestones—is that even wettable?—and takes it off to come in the hot tub in only a plaid bra and matching thong. I didn't even know they made those, and I consider myself a fashion expert. But mayhaps it's a good thang I didn't know that, 'cause she just looks like real white trash in it. And that's not just 'cause she's skunk-drunk.

That girl is gonna be feelin' poorly tomorrow.

**Tara POV**

If you're gonna wear a thong into a hot tub, at least have a little class and wear a thong bikini if you're gonna wear anythang at all, ya know?

**Jasey-J**

I knew I was gonna hafta suck it up when I saw The The in the hot tub, and I was okay with that. Like, whatever, you know? But I sure as hell wasn't expectin' Jessica Jo to strip in front of us—and she's so skinny and boy-shaped I had trouble enjoyin' it—and hop into a hot tub full of testosterone-ridden hickbillies—'cause now it's me and The The and Hoyt—wearin' her bra and a thong. Is she serious? Like, who does that? It's a bit of a turn-off, when that girl's that sloppy. Even fer me. That's how you know she's sloppy.

Plus, she's hittin' on every one of us. Even Ka-Pam, who's lookin' hot in her bikini. But she ain't lookin' too upset with Jessica Jo's drunken pawing—at least, at first she ain't. I exchange a glance with Hoyt over that; fer a second we thought we was gettin' lucky, but then Ka-Pam kind of turned her face away at the last second.

Eric don't seem too pleased with Jessica Jo—he got up out of the tub and toweled off after she tried to sit on his lap fer like the fifth time. Hoyt just sat there, watchin' her every move and halfheartedly fendin' her off when she's tryin' to kiss his face. Guy's a mute, basically. He don't even say nothin' when she starts whinin' fer him to take his sunglasses off—yeah, guy's wearin' sunglasses at night—so she can "see his eyeballs."

After a while we all got out of the tub—and away from Jessica Jo, who ended up passin' out on a hammock. All I know is, she's out fer the night, so we all agree to get cleaned up and then meet downstairs in the living room to do some explorin' of the night life here in Bon Temps Shore. And 'cause we're in Lousiana and all, and this is a beach town, that means there's gonna be a heck of a lotta barbeque clubs, which everyone and their mother know is the best kind of night clubs out there. There's these mechanical bulls and square-dance floors and barbeque pits where a chef comes out and barbeques right in front of ya, like how those guys with the funny hats at Asian restaurants do. It's awesome. They just put the pig right in front of you, just like that! And then you get to watch 'em make din-din for yas! It's just awesome.

**The The POV**

My momma didn't raise me to cuss and have a filthy mouth, but I ain't lyin' when I say I look pretty dang good in the all-white suit that I wore to my senior prom in high school. Susannah will see that tonight.

Susannah. Aaah. She looks like she can make a nice batch of biscuits.

'Cept the good Lord gave me the good sense to know there ain't no way I'm tellin' her brother that. Eric neither. So far I've told 'em everythang I think they need to know about me, except fer that part. I mean, I talked 'bout the time I rolled down a hill wrapped up in bubble wrap and the time I saw a slug on a leaf and the time I found a piece of spaghetti that looked like Jesus. But they're more interested in how I won't kiss a girl unless she brushes her teeth beforehand. I don't get it. Come on, I found a piece of spaghetti that looks like Jesus!

**Eric POV**

The idiot makes all potential conquests brush their teeth before hookin' up with him. I ain't even kiddin'; he really did pack extra toothbrushes and toothpaste fer this purpose, and he brings me 'n Jasey-J into the boys' bathroom to show 'em to us. Needless to say, he ain't gonna be gettin' any mouth, let alone any tail, this summer. What a bonehead.

"Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's rainin', boy," I snort.

The The looks at us like we was the crazies. "Y'all don't do that?"

Me and Jasey-J gape at each other before we start laughin' our sorry asses off. I'm kinda amazed we was able to last that long. We're all in the bathroom, since we was fixin' our hair and bondin' by sharin' techniques before Bill butted in here to "freshen his cologne," and I can see the camera dude shakin' in the back doin' his damndest not to laugh and fuck up the hilarity of this scene.

"Seriously?" Jasey-J asks raggedly in between guffaws.

"You don't do that?" Bill repeats in a deeper, more serious tone, like he's a newscaster on the television or somethang. Well now, that just makes us laugh even more. I'm just glad I haven't pissed myself yet. But if this boy keeps jabberin', I ain't promisin' nothin.

I'm bendin' over with both hands on my knees, Jasey-J's clutchin' his stomach like he's tryin' to stop it from runnin' away from me, and Bill's just standin' there with his hands on his hips and a goddamn pout on his face, which really ain't helpin' thangs much.

_Where the fuck did MTV find this guy?_

Once I'm able to compose myself, I ask, "How come?"

"'Cause."

"'Cause why?"

"Just 'cause."

"Are you a virgin?" Jasey-J blurts.

Bill looks appalled. "Of course not! Don't be ugly." Jasey-J and I exchange a glance.

"Do you, like, make a girl take a shower before sex?" I ask.

"NO!" Bill replies defensively as he crosses his arms. "We do bathe together after sexual intercourse."

Then he walks out of the room with both of his hands in his pockets. Good riddance.

"That there boy is as lost as last year's Easter eggs," I say.

Jasey-J nods. "Damn straight."

After crackin' some more jokes, we get our manscapin' on. My hair has got to look like I've just been ridin' around on a horse; chicks—'specially Southern chicks—dig that. With a little stylin' wax and a lotta strategic fluffin', I'm ready to move on to step two of Operation Hickbilly: clothing.

Now, the perfect thang fer a perfect guy like me to wear to a barbeque is a nice collared shirt with the sleeves all rolled up and a coupla buttons undone, clean jeans with only a coupla holes in 'em, and workin' boots. And then I'm officially party ready and whatnot once I button up my red and black plaid shirt, 'cause I'm all about the plaid— wrestlin', plaid, pie. WPP. It's how we do it down here. You're in plaid country now, fool. I get more chicks while wearin' plaid than when I ain't wearin' a shirt at all, which is pretty fucked up but it's true. The girls come to the plaid like flies to horse shit.

Jasey-J knows this too—he's wearing a blue plaid shirt too. "Don't be ugly," I smirk, recallin' what The The said earlier. I hear him snort as I walk out of the room.

**Susannah POV**

So far, I like everyone in the household—'specially Eric and Bill.

Eric looked finger-lickin' good back there. Plaid shirt? Check. Good manners? Check. Has a farmers tan? Check. That's all need fer my dream hickbilly.

But even though The The wasn't wearin' plaid (which isn't to say he don't have any, but if he did he should wear it, that's all) he was still so polite, so courteous, so … _chivalrous_. He seemed like a nice hickbilly. But so did Eric. I sigh, earnin' me a glare from my new roommate Tara, who's in the bathroom with me fixin' up her makeup.

The bathroom is the size of a barn, but that's tiny compared to the bedroom. I keep remindin' myself that I live here and don't hafta tiptoe around everywhere. There's a lotta rustic accents, like there's red plaid comforters on all the beds and matching curtains and almost everythang's wooden in the house, floor and wall-wise, except fer in this here bathroom, which is done up with blue and yellow tiles and yellow wallpaper.

"Gettin' all dolled up fer Eric?" Tara casually asks all of a sudden.

"What?" I yelp. I hear the cameraman cough; he's standin' behind us and I jump every time I see his reflection in the mirror. It's just creepy. I hope they ain't gonna hover over me when I'm sleepin' and everythang. I've already had to shoo 'em out of the room when I peed.

"Nothin'. Just keep actin' like the Southern Barbie MTV recruited you fer."

"What the heck is that s'posed to mean?" Now I'm just plumb confused. And a little angry. What's wrong with Barbie?

She sets down her tweezers and turns to face me. Oh boy.

"Please. I'm the sassy black bitch, you're Southern Barbie, Pam's the daddy's girl, Jessica Jo's the mall rat, Hoyt's the quiet one, The The's the weirdass who thinks he's the perfect gentleman, Eric's the bad boy, and Jasey-J's the beer-guzzlin' prom king. We was all brought here to play a part, and you're doin' yours real fine. We're just cogs in the machine. And I'm the only black one, put here to earn MTV ratings and mentions in _Entertainment Weekly. _The spot I'm fillin' probably originally went to some apple-cheeked white chick who got the boot when the casting executives realized they needed a black chick on their show that takes place in the deep South or else Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton would give 'em hell. And fer fuck's sake, where's my male counterpart? Lawd knows it's too damn hard to find a black guy in Louisiana, like it's been ever since, I don't know, slavery was enforced in this state after it was purchased by the greatest slave-ownin' hypocrite of all time."

She stops to catch her breath and scowl at the camera guy quiverin' in the back of the room. "And that motherfuckin' camera better be rollin', little boy. I want the big guns at MTV to stop gettin' blown by their secretaries fer one damn second and listen to me."

He scurries out of the room before she was even done talkin'. Lucky duck.

Tara smiles and closes the door. "Good, now the cameras are gone. Is your brother single?"

I stare at her, causin' her to glance at the door. "C'mon, before he finds his balls and comes back in. Is your brother single?"

I nod. Too weird. I really am stuck in a house full of crazies. And Eric.

" Now, I've been tryin' to figure this out all night … you gettin' all dolled up fer Eric, ain't ya?"

"That ain't nunya business, missy!"

"Fine, be that way. But I've seen the way you've been checkin' him out, starin' at his plaid shirt. And I've seen the way he's been lookin' you up and down like you just gave him the remote and told him he could watch whatever he wanted on TV."

"Really?" I ask, and as soon as Tara smirks I wish I could eat my words. Dangnabbit!

"Well, I'll be dipped in shit," she says smugly. She stares at me fer a few seconds. "I like you, Susannah."

Just then a new camera guy comes in, the biggest and most muscular one there is. Tara and I share a smile, and she comes over to fix up my makeup.

**Tara POV**

I ain't the kind of gal who's into makeovers and sleepovers and talkin' bout crushes and all that shit, but here I am gossipin' with Susannah Stackhouse and doin' her makeup and helpin' her pick out a barbeque-appropriate summer dress and matchin' sandals. I even found her a goddamn flower to tuck behind her ear. Lawd a'mercy, what the fuck did Pam put in that drink? It's like I'm the motherfucking Mary Poppins of Bon Temps Shore or sumptin.

**Ka-Pam POV**

I walk into the bathroom and see Susannah, whose hair is now straightened, with a white flower tucked in behind her ear, one that matches her date dress. Not that I wouldn't mind goin' on a date with her in that dress. And I can think of one hickbilly in this household that would agree.

Her dress is cut square and low in the neck and it's sleeveless, with white spaghetti straps so small she has to be just free-boobin' it. The dress is wickedly tight and innocently white, with bright red flowers that match her straw pocketbook and surprising red high-heeled screw-me heels. Well, looky here. I didn't think she had it in her, but apparently she does. She looks like a true hickbillie-jean—a girl who knows how to bake it up, takes really good care of demselves, has pretty hair, has tanned skin, wears lotsa floral, owns the hottest heels, pretty much they know how to own it and rock it. And Susannah is definitely rockin' it.

I tell Susannah she looks beautiful, and she blushes and thanks me before complimentin' me as well. If it was anyone else, I'd think the ole re-compliment thang was just insincere, but I don't think that's a word in Susannah's dictionary (mayhaps 'cause she don't know how to spell it). And plus, I look hot in my pink dress with green embroidered margarita glasses.

I let Susannah leave the room first, partly 'cause I want to see if I like the back as much as the front (I do) and partly 'cause I can't wait to see the expression on Eric's face once he sees her. That boy is smitten with her, I can just tell. And The The seems to be sneakin' peeks at her as well, but that could also be 'cause the little turd's probably tryin' to see if her hips are wide enough to birth him the seventeen sons he'll want to carry on his terrible nickname.

Susannah glides in the room like the Cinderella of the South. Eric's nonchalantly seated on the couch with his long legs crossed and restin' on the wooden coffee table (we're gonna hafta work on that), but he instantly straightens, his flip flops makin' a loud smacking sound as they hit the wooden floor. He stands up so fast he bangs his knee on the coffee table. Once he picks his jaw—and his balls—up, he immediately tells Susannah she looks gorgeous.

Not to be outdone, The The begins this long-winded compliment that I can tell even Susannah's barely payin' attention too, mostly 'cause he keeps interruptin' himself to think of new similes ("you look as fresh as a newly-dropped cow patty … no, no, you look as pretty as a glass of lemonade that's been left in the sun all day and has those little droplets on the side"). Between the both of 'em, they've got Susannah lookin' like she ain't got a clue what to do.

But perfect Southern belle that she is, she smiles and tells 'em they're too kind. I can tell she punctures both of their hearts with her three inch heels when she goes over to her brother and starts fixin' his tie fer him.

Tara starts makin' polite conversation with The The, talkin' bout the weather, and that leaves Eric fer me. I grin. This could be fun.

I delicately sit down on the dark red bean bag opposite him. "Susannah looks real pretty tonight, don't she?"

"She sure does," Eric responds absentmindedly.

"Admit it. You like her."

That got his attention real fast. "What now?"

"Come on. You're sweet on her. I saw yous makin' googly eyes at her when she came in."

"No, you didn't, 'cause I don't fucking do googly eyes, and I certainly don't fucking do googly eyes at the Shore," he snarls.

I put my hands up defensively. "Silly me. What do I know about googly eyes, bein' a fucking girl and all?"

"Just shut your pie hole," he retorts loud enough so I'm the only one who can hear it.

"Funny how you didn't reply to the part about you bein' sweet on her!"

He gets up and storms over to the kitchen like his perfectly toned ass is on fire. I smirk at how I was able to get the last word in.

Everyone's ready to go, and Susannah fetches Eric from where he's sulkin' in the kitchen. He looks miles happier though, walkin' behind her. Gee, I wonder why. And then I wonder if I could get a bonus fer playin' match maker, 'cause he and Susannah exchange these smiles and it's just puppy love—even if Eric would probably call it Rottweiler friendship or whatever. Hickbilly ain't foolin' no one. 'Cept mayhaps Susannah.

**Susannah POV **

Eric looks a little weird, like bad weird, so I ask him what up and he says it's nothin'. But that don't make him look any happier. I want to see that beautiful smile on his face, and I want to be the reason it's there, so I joke around by askin' him how drunk he thinks Jessica Jo is, on a scale of one to Nascar.

His face brightens noticeably after that, and he seems to be in a good mood as we walk out of the house. But, that same little scowl, that almost imperceptible brow furrow, reappears once The The takes my hand as we cross the street and he don't release it afterwards. And though I was a little surprised at first, I don't mind. It's just holdin' hands anyways..

Plus, The The won me a stuffed teddy bear during the bingo game they had at the shore. Who'da thunk there'd be bingo on the boardwalk, right? But he won, and he made all the old ladies laugh when he started tellin' 'em Civil War trivia. Like, U.S. Brig. General Alexander Schimmelfennig had the longest name, with fourteen letters … and yep, there ya have it.

**The The POV**

I don't know what compelled me to hold Sookie's hand. But I think I know what compelled her to hold mine. What can I say? I'm The The.

**Eric POV**

So I'm 100% sure The The wants to hook up with Susannah. And I'm 1000% sure I ain't gonna let that happen.

**Ka-Pam POV**

I'm actually havin' fun; we got a nice group goin', I think. In fact, we was havin' so much fun walkin' around and findin' these great barbeque hotspots to go to later and tryin' out all the games that we all forget about Jessica Jo, who's off doin' God knows what back at the house. That is, if she's still alive after all the drinks she drank tonight.

**Jessica Jo POV**

Like, I wake up and no one's there. They all left me behind or sumptin, I dunno. So I go downstairs and put on my slippers and sweatshirt and re-do my hair-do, and then I walk around and I STILL can't find anyone. Like, what the FUCK?

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

And then I start hearin' these weird noises, but I don't think much of 'em 'cause I get a little gassy when I've had too much to drink. But then they don't stop, and I finally figure out they're comin' from the phone in the phone room. It's a piggy phone! And it oinks instead of ringin' when someone calls. OINK OINK OINK. Like, shut the fuck up, piggy phone.

The oinking stops, and the piggy's eyes are glowin' now, but I decide to call my daddy since I'm in the room anyways.

"Hello?"

"Hiiiiiiii, it's me," I say. He'll know who I am. I'm his first-born child. I shouldn't hafta introduce myself.

And then the phone starts yellin' at me, makin' all these noises and stuff. Maybe someone's callin'?"

I push the button and say "Hiiiiiiii" while twirlin' a pig tail with my finger.

"Who is this?"

"Jessica."

"Who?"

"JESSICA!"

"No you're not." And then he hangs up on me. WHAT THE FUCK?

And then this thang, this pig, starts makin' those noises _again._

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii."

"Hi, is Pamela there?" this chick asks.

"Who?"

"Pamela."

"Hold on," I say before puttin' the pig down on the table. I walk around the house yellin', "Pamela! Pamela!" Like, who the fuck is Pamela? I don't even know. I HATE my life right now! 'Specially now that the damn pig is oinkin' again!

"Hiiiiiiii."

"Hey, is Pamela there?"

"Who is this?"

"Her girlfriend."

Like, wow. Oh, wow. I did not know Ka-Pam—that's who Pamela is, right? It has to be. Unless it's like The The's seventh nickname or sumptin—was gay. Not that it matters, but … just did not see that one comin'. But if she's gay, why didn't she want to kiss me earlier? Oh my god. Not even a lesbian finds me attractive. Waah. I just want to DIE.

As I lie on the bean bag clutchin' this pig to my chest, Eric opens the door and everyone comes inside. They went to the boardwalk without me! Oh my godddddd.

"Your girlfriend called," I say to Ka-Pam as she smiles at me.

Eric pops up from where he was lyin' on the couch. "Your what? Ohhhh, wait. Your WHAT? Your _girlfriend_?" Jasey-J's eyes get real big and stuff. Everyone else starts talkin' bout Pam. Pam just looks amused.

**Jasey-J POV**

Are you kiddin' me, Pam? You're in a relationship—and a gay relationship—and you conveniently forget to mention this when talkin' 'bout yourself tonight? Well tie my face to the side of a pig and roll me in the mud. I don't care or nothin' but you coulda said sumptin. And hey, if you ever get a little lonely … you know where I'm sleepin'. Feel free to pay me a visit. 'Specially if you've got a girl over. Know what I'm sayin'?

**Eric POV**

Does it sound bad when I say that's why she wasn't fallin' fer the Northman charm, 'cause she's gay? Fuck it. I'm gonna say it. The only reason why Ka-Pam wasn't fallin' fer the Northman charm is 'cause she's gay. There. Although that really ain't an excuse.

Anyways, it's all good; Ka-Pam goes off to talk to her girlfriend in the phone room, and the rest of us pretty much pass out on our beds 'cause we're so tired. It's gonna be hell wakin' up at eight tomorrow morning. That is gonna suck so hard, and not in a good way.

**Jessica Jo POV**

When I wake up I'm like, what did I do last night? Like, what did I do?

"I feel like ass," I announce as I walk in the kitchen, wantin' to bitch to someone.

"Literally?" The The asks curiously, lookin' up from the muffin platter he's fixin'.

UGH. I knew I musta done sumptin last night. Like, I fucked up. STORY OF MY LIFE.

**Ka-Pam POV**

Oh my god … Jessica Jo … just, oh my god. She is _extremely_ annoying. I understand that this is her first time away from home, and since I'm her roommate and am _very _experienced in bein' a grown-up, I wouldn't have minded showin' her the ropes, teachin' her how to mix drinks and accessorize. But she's so damn hyper I'm startin' to worry she talks in her sleep when she isn't passed out drunk like she was last night, since she talks ALL THE TIME when she's awake.

She's chatterin' away as she starts takin' all her goth makeup and spillin' it on the bathroom counter—even MY side of the counter—while tellin' me about her seven-year-old sister's bed-wettin' habit. Um, eew.

"Will you hold my hair while I throw up?" she suddenly asks once I start puttin' away my makeups.

"What? No! I'm allergic to vomit. Sorry." And with that, I high-tail it outta there.

**Jasey-J POV**

So we're all in the kitchen waitin' to go to work when Ka-Pam strolls in—wearin' this fancy smanchy pink dress and white heels that look like the shoes Sookie used to wear on Easter Sundays as a kid; the rest of us are just in jeans and plaid shirts or tank tops—and says that Jessica Jo is throwin' up in the bathroom and needs someone to hold her hair.

"Gross," The The immediately states. Uh, no shit Sherlock.

We wait around a bit, hopin' to hear Jessica's footsteps as she walks into the kitchen ready to go, but we don't hear nothin. And then it's getting' kinda late, so we just zoom outta the house.

**Eric POV**

Is it just me, or if you're an adult, a grown woman, and you know you have your first day of work tomorrow, and if you get fired from work you also hafta leave the house, then maybe you'd take it easy with the drinkin' and the partyin' the night before? If she was an employee at my gym, I'd throw her out on her ass and wish her a good life. I can't stand irresponsibility and poor decision-makin'.

Apparently Sophie Anne don't neither. After greetin' us all, she immediately asks where the last person is. Well, shiiiiit boy. She did say if we came to work late, we would be fired. And what does Jessica Jo do her first day of work? She don't arrive on time.

I don't even know if she'll come to work at all. Honestly, I'm a little surprised she's still alive after last night.

**Jessica Jo**

Once I'm all done I walk around and see that no one's in the house. AGAIN. 'Cause everyone left without me. AGAIN. I don't get it. I'm used to bein' the center of attention, I like bein' the center of attention. But here it's like totally different. I don't like it.

And where the fuck is this tee shirt shop? I'm at the boardwalk—which took _forever_ 'cause it was hidin' from me, I swear to God!—and I don't see it anywhere. What was it called? The plate? The palace? Whatever it is, it isn't here. I'm totally gonna get fired or whatever. I just know it. And I feel like, fuck it. You know? Just like, fuck it.

FINALLY I find the damn store, and like I see everyone and that Sophie Anne girl is lookin' pretty P-O'ed. She's such a bitch. She's like, "Jessica, I'd like to speak to you alone."

And then she's like, "I do not know what your excuse is, I do not care to know, but if seven other people can make it on time, you can too."

I'm just like, "Yeah, I'm sorry, I was in the bathroom."

And then she's like, "Bathroom, bedroom, whatever. These things will not buy. I'll let you slide this one time, 'cause it is your first day, but after that—no deal."

And then she DISMISSES me. DISMISSES ME. So I'm just like, "Um, okay, thanks," and then I go home. Like, I fucked up today. I'm fuckin' up with everybody. And that's just not who I am at all. That's not me.

Once everyone comes home, they're all hangin' out with each other, 'cause they didn't fuck up the first night or the first morning or whatever. They all have a, you know … like, a connection or sumptin. And me, I'm on the outcast. And it sucks.

**Susannah POV**

Jessica Jo disappears once we come home. The The asks me to help make sandwiches fer everyone. I like that he's lettin' me in his food circle, 'cause he ain't lettin' no one else do that.

Except he kind of ruins it when he says, "You're a good little girl, helpin' me out in the kitchen. That's wife-y material right there, you know?"

I hear Eric, who's makin' his special EE juice, snort.

**Jasey-J POV**

Me, I'm used to havin' the girls cook the food and the guys eatin' it, but The The and Susannah seem to be havin' a grand ole time makin' lunch fer us all—I'm okay with it and everythang, but Eric sure as hell ain't. He's fixin' us some drinks, but I see him glarin' at The The, 'specially when the guy is touchin' her arm when pointin' stuff out or whatever. Honestly, like, good fer Susannah. She ain't used to havin' a guy's attention, mostly 'cause in Bon Temps I've threatened to beat the tar outta any guy who so much as looks at her. But Eric … Eric I'm okay with. The The? Not so much. I mean, just look at him, listen to him speak. He's all sorts of wrong fer Susannah.

But the lunch he cooks, with Susannah's help, is fuckin' good; we all sit down at the table and just dig in, like a family. The The's tries to make a joke by sayin', "The The sits at the head of the table," and Eric and I just look at each other. But other than that, it's fine. Yummy, even.

We chill out for a bit, and later the guys go on the roof. And I start callin' out stuff to girls, seein' who'll take my bait. I manage to snag this group of hickbillie-jeans, these three girls in short shorts, and I get 'em to agree to come up on the roof with us. The The's pretty excited, Hoyt don't do nothin' but grin, but Eric's not so agreeable to my little plan.

**Eric POV**

Okay, so The The was flirtin' with Susannah this whole damn time, so why the fuck is he so interested in bringin' these random girls to the house? Like, he has one already, or so it would seem. Don't bring a girl into the house when you're vibin' with a hickbillie-jean; I sure as fuck wouldn't do that, 'specially not to Susannah. It's just gonna cause massive amounts of problems. Just common sense, dude. Just common sense and decency. Isn't that what gets him all hot and bothered—Southern chivalry? Like, would a Southern gentleman do this? Not me. Nope.

But naw, the girls come up and take their clothes off—but not their underthangs—and get in the hot tub with Hoyt and Jasey-J and The The, who's lookin' like Sunday mass came early or sumptin.

**Tara POV**

Me and Susannah see these three whorebags strut into our house in their cheap little skanky outfits, and we're like, what should we do? And then we hear someone come downstairs, and it's Eric. So I say, "Eric, let's just go upstairs and laugh," and he's all, "Nah, let's not do that, let's just let those guys get their shit done. Let 'em do their thang."

**Eric POV**

I really don't want those girls to see what those boys are doin' upstairs. Nothin' good will come out of it, I can tell you that right now. It just ain't right. The guys shouldn't be doin' that in the first place with these strangers, 'specially not when they live in a house with a bunch of girls. But on the other hand, I know The The's probably hookin' up with a girl. If Susannah goes upstairs and see that, he'll be toast. Only thang is that in order fer that to happen, she's gonna hafta get hurt. And I know she will, 'cause she's a nice hickbillie-jean.

**Susannah POV**

I get where Eric's comin' from, I do, and I think he's bein' a real nice hickbilly. But on the other hand, this is my house too. I'm gonna go on the roof if I wanna, no matter who's up there doin' what. Like, there won't be any problems. The The's probably tellin' family stories to a chick or sumptin.

Except when I go up there… he ain't. Or if he is, he's only talkin' with his tongue that's jammed down the throat of this brunette girly.

I'm so fixated on that that I almost miss Eric shakin' his head, or Jasey-J kissin' two girls at one time. Like, how does that even work? I'm so confused right now. Tara's just laughin' and pointin' at the girls, and it's all I can do to keep smilin'.

I think Eric gets this; he don't go over to the hot tub when all the boys start callin' fer him to do. He sits down next to me and wordlessly gives me a beer, and I've never felt so thankful to have someone not talk to me. 'Specially when we both hear the girl ask if The The has a girlfriend, and he turns and looks at me fer a second before shakin' his head.

Wow. Just … wow. He's not actin' like the guy I thought he was, that's all. But he can do whatever he wants. I just thought that maybe I'd be involved, that he'd want me.

**The The POV**

It's gettin' weird with Susannah and me. She's just there, lookin' at me and stuff. I can't even deal with this right now. I have more urgent matters to which I must attend.

**Tara POV**

The The gets out and says it don't mean nothin' but I can tell his heart ain't in it. Sookie can too, I think, 'cause she just tells him to do what he wants before she goes back downstairs.

Ka-Pam meets us down there, and we do a lotta gossipin' about what just happened—all the girls are underage, and Jasey-J's twenty-nine, The The's twenty-eight. Ick. And when the guys come back downstairs to get ready to bring the skanks home, they're all whatever about it.

**Jasey-J POV**

Okay, so we wanna party. The girls in the house don't wanna party. So we're gonna find new girls to party with. It's the Bon Temps Shore; it ain't like there's a hickbillie-jean shortage or nothin.

**Ka-Pam POV**

I guess the guys are takin' too long bein' douches, 'cause then the sluts just open the door and walk in the house, like they live here. Uh, no, you don't. I do. And you're damn right if you think I'm gonna make sure you know that shit.

The girls just stand there dumbly, and don't even move until I growl, "Close the door, with you behind it. This is our house, so get the fuck out."

Tara chimes in. "Don't let the door hit you on your fat ass on the way out." And I exchange a look with her like, you go girl!

The best the girls can do is to retort, "Bitches," and then it's all over.

**Tara POV**

Um, we're the bitches? Please. As soon as they slam the door—yeah, that's right, _they_ _slam the door!_—I march right over there and give 'em a piece of my mind. I ain't no The The when it comes to Southern Hospitality, but you just don't go around hookin' up with random guys and then slam the door of the house you wasn't even invited to.

**Jessica Jo POV**

So I'm in my bed and I hear all this screamin' 'bout how the whores in the house needs to leave. Fuck, they're talkin' 'bout me. Like, it's not even worth bein' in this house anymore. I ain't havin' no fun, and they ain't havin' any either, least when I'm around. I pull the pillow over my face when I hear sumptin 'bout takin' clothes off in the Jacuzzi and stuff. That's it. I'm done.

**Eric POV**

Tara's just rantin' now 'bout how she won't bring her boyfriend here and try to fuck him in the hot tub. She's pissed 'bout those girls, like super pissed. That's kinda why I didn't want the girls to go up there in the first place, 'cause all they did was watch the people in the hot tubs like creeps and then bitch about it.

I hate bein' right, 'cause I knew this would happen if the guys brought some girls up to the hot tub. I'm the only guy who _didn't_ get any action tonight, but here I am getting' yelled at. The The's in the kitchen cleanin' the refrigerator and he ain't sayin' nothin', even though this is all his fault.

**The The POV**

I'm kind of in a tough situation right now, 'cause I was in a good spot with Susannah and then at the same time I was like, should I go for it with the other girls? And Tara calls me out on it too, the little … witch.

I defend myself by sayin', "I dunno why everyone keeps linkin' me and Susannah together, 'cause we're just roommates. I don't get it."

**Eric POV**

THAT SHIT. THAT LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT.

I sit up from where I was lyin' down on the bean bag. There's no way I can be this angry and remain stationary. "That's 'cause your head is so far up her ass you could see outta her fuckin' mouth. THAT's why. You guys was holdin' hands all night, you cooked all the meals together, you only talked to her. Cut the crap. You knew what you was doin'."

Ka-Pam's got my back; when The The tries to deny bringin' any girls home she's like, "Did you put your lips on another girls mouth? Huh? Did you?"

Hoyt nods that he did. Susannah's just lookin' at The The and shakin' her head. The The's just bein' a dick, and everyone knows it now—'cept I knew it within three seconds of meetin' him. What a dum-dum.

**Jessica Jo POV**

That's it. I'm done. All the yellin' 'bout me … that's not why I signed up for this. I talk to my daddy on the piggy phone and tell him I'm goin' home 'cause I'm gettin' ignored. I just miss my family; I've never been away from 'em.

I tell Eric I'm leavin' as I exit the door, and he musta told someone 'cause all the girls come in my room soon afterwards.

**Susannah POV**

Eric told me I that Jessica Jo's leavin'. I feel terrible. Sure, she has her faults, but who don't? She's part of our crew. She should stay.

I get the girls go to her room to try and talk her outta it. We tell her that it's only been two days, that everyone's out of their elements, that we're just gettin' to know everyone. But gosh darnit, she just has her mind set on leavin' and that's so sad. My heart hurts for her.

It's gettin' late, and we all head back to our rooms. I pass Eric on my way to the bathroom, and we're both carryin' our toothbrushes, which gives us sumptin to talk about.

"Some night, huh?" he says, smilin' a little sadly. "You okay?"

It takes me a while to figure out if he's talkin' 'bout Jessica Jo, or me and The The, or the boys and the hot tub girls. I still don't know. But, what I do know is that for all of those crazy situations that happened … Eric was always there. For me. Whether it was tellin' me Jessica Jo could use a girl friend, or callin' The The out … Eric had my back.

.

I start to say sumptin about how good he was to me this whole time, but this camera guy comes from down the hall and says Eric needs to do his confessionals, sumptin that I guess happens every two days. We hafta go in this special room and basically narrate what happened so they can use it for voice overs. They want Eric first, and me second.

Eric makes a face and follows the camera guy to the room. I say good night and go brush my teeth. And then I go wait outside the confessional room.

Eric's still in it, still talkin'. And from what I can hear from behind the closed door, he's talkin' bout me.

"Susannah … Susannah's just, just Susannah. Like, if her name was an adjective, it'd be a synonym for … I dunno … beautiful, kind, caring, sweet, smart, cute, helpful, funny. Great cook. Great sense of humor. Great example of a hickbillie-jean. It … it just makes me so _angry_ that The The could have had her, and he wasted it on some dime-a-dozen girl. She deserves better than that. Maybe this summer, I'll get the opportunity to show her that. But who knows, right? It's the Bon Temps Shore. Just like we've seen tonight, anything can happen."

Oh, thank God there ain't any camera guys nearby shootin' me looking so gosh darn silly happy. My grin just don't wanna come off, and I don't want it to just yet.

Then Eric exits. He smiles when he sees me. "Oh, you're next? Have fun. It ain't too bad."

"Cool. See you tomorrow," I say awkwardly, tryin' not to give away the reason why I'm smilin' like a fool.

He grins. "Definitely."

END


End file.
